


Ornaments (30 Days of Prompts)

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Getting Together, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27528739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: Crowley wondered, honestly, if the ornaments were rigged to explode once they were all gathered together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Ornaments (30 Days of Prompts)

**Author's Note:**

> For my NaNoWrimo project: 30 days of short story prompts.

The first package showed up on Crowley's doorstep, no knock or request for a signature, less than a week from Christmas. He had nearly tripped over it on his way out to tempt Aziraphale for breakfast. It was a plain brown package, carefully tied with twine. No return address. Actually, he noted, no marking on it at all. He couldn't be sure it was even for him except that it was very deliberately placed where he would find it... With his wayward feet. He took it back inside and opened it. Inside, tucked securely into a nest of white tissue paper, was a single ornament: white enamel and gilded metal forming a human holding a drum with the number 12 floating over his head. Digging all the paper of the box did nothing to resolve the mystery. Shrugging he put the delicate bauble back in the box and left for breakfast.

One ornament showing up at his door unannounced he could explain, but when he left the next day to cause some mischief somewhere (he would decide along the way where that mischief would take place, being a free agent now) he was stopped short by a box exactly the same as the first. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the first package was, in fact, still on his table. Then he reached down and plucked up the new one, taking it inside. Still, no addresses and no names. No labels to indicate the craftsperson or store that had made them. This one was blue and white, decked out with a cheerful flutist and holly leaves. Above the flutist was the number 11. Apparently, whoever this was, they were counting down. He slipped it gently back into the box and then went about his day, but he thought about it quite a lot.

The third day he poked his head out into the hall early, still in his pajamas and bare feet. He thought perhaps he would catch the deliverer in the act, but no. There was a third package, placed exactly where the other two had been. He plucked it up and brought it inside. This one was red and there was a man on it... To Crowley he looked sprawled out like he'd just had a bad fall. Surely that wasn't it, though. Above the sprawled man was the gilded number 10. The ball, this time, was a shiny red.

He never mentioned the mysterious ornaments to Aziraphale, though he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was that he was concerned for his own safety and, by extension, the angel's. He had no idea what these ornaments meant or what they might be counting down to. It could be a cruel joke from his previous bosses with the last one exploding in his face or something. They hadn't been bothered in months, but one never could be too careful. No, he wouldn't worry Aziraphale until he understood what was going on. Until then, all would be normal.

On it did go, though, perplexingly. The fourth day saw a red ball with a dancing lady on it, the number nine gleaming over her curls. The fifth one was green with a cow on it. The sixth, blue with a swan. The boxes were adding up on his desk. In lieu of stacking them and possibly breaking the delicate little things he got a larger box to keep them all in. 

The seventh day was a red ball with a nesting goose, laying on her golden eggs. He found himself getting jumpy thinking there was someone outside his home, everyday, so close to him and yet unknown. He wondered if he should throw them away, but something inside him hoarded them like the mystery was a treasure itself.

Day eight was a deep, forest green covered in golden rings that overlapped and were tied together with a red ribbon. His skin was starting to itch with anxiety with only four more days to go until the finale of this... whatever it was. He was sure Aziraphale noticed him being so quiet. It was just that he couldn't stop thinking about what would be in the little brown box tomorrow. And what would happen when the countdown reached it's end?

The night before day nine he purchased a tiny security camera and installed it outside his down, linking it his phone. He tried to stay up and keep watch on the feed, but they'd had a very pleasant evening out, him and the angel, with plenty of libation. He was out not twenty minutes after he sat down. In the morning the feed was clean, but for a tiny disruption at first light. And there, after said disruption, sat a package at his door. More birds, this time, and music notes. Either someone was clever with technology or they were occult. 

Day ten found chickens in a sea of green. Day eleven, doves on blue. Crowley didn't sleep the night before day twelve. When the sun rose, he was keyed up to the point of shaking. He went to the door, threw it open. Another package, another bird. He held it delicately in his hands, more than half afraid it would explode. When it didn't he placed it in the larger box with the rest.

Okay, countdown successful, but countdown to what?

His phone ringing shattered his tattered nervous so badly he was left clinging to the ceiling, eyes wide and yellow to the rims. 

Only one person ever called him on his landline. 

Slithering down from the ceiling, he answered.

“'ello, Angel.”

“Crowley! You will be by today, won't you? I thought... Well, I thought we would spend Christmas eve together.”

“Sure, sure. I'll be by in a bit.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale's voice was wrapped up in a smile like a bow, “Oh, good. Do bring the ornaments I sent you, would you?”

“The...” Crowley looked over at the box on his desk, all twelve baubles gleaming in the morning sun, his brain coming to a complete and utter halt, “ornaments?”

“You did get them? I mean, you never mentioned it. I hope they went to the right address!” He could hear the sound of rustling papers and then, “Yes, it's here correctly on the receipt.”

“You sent me ornaments?” He felt like he was dragging his brain through sludge to get it to the point, but after all the anxiety this made no sense. He saw Aziraphale every day, or damn near. Why hadn't he just given him them in person?

“Yes, there should have been twelve.”

“I got them.”

“Oh good, so you'll bring them with you?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah sure I will. No problem.”

“Alright, see you in a bit, then.”

“Yup.”

And the receiver went dead. Aziraphale had sent him Christmas ornaments. And they counted down until today. But, he must know... Crowley never put up a tree?

He stared at the box for another minute more, puzzling, but then shrugged and headed for his shower. 

-

He snapped open the door and shouldered his way into the bookshop, box of ornaments taking up most of his dexterity. 

“Angel!” he called out, but saw no sign of him. He walked into the center of the book shop and found... A twinkle light lit evergreen tree that had to be at least 8 feet tall. It had decidedly not been there yesterday. All around it were boxes of trinkets and garland and even hand-threaded popcorn-and-cranberry strands.

“Ah, hullo, Crowley!” Aziraphale was descending the stairs, a box in his hands. Crowley sat his down by the others and rushed over to help, “oh, thank you, dear.” Aziraphale clapped his hands together to remove the dust.

“Where did all of this come from?” Crowley took the last box over- glittery balls in gold and silver, all different sizes- and put it with the rest. The tree was well and truly boxed in at this point.

“Oh, I bought most of them. Lots of thrifting. Love the human idea of thrifting, don't you? One person's discard is another person's treasure!” Aziraphale was fluttering around the boxes, but didn't seem to be actually doing anything with them, “I made some of it. I think I ate more popcorn than made it on the strands, I must confess.”

Crowley stood in the midst of the Christmas festivities and felt utterly lost.

“Ah, here are the ones I sent you! Oh, but they're even more lovely in person!”

Crowley watched him, as if he was going mad.

“Do you like them?” Aziraphale looked up at him and frowned, “You don't?”

“I mean, they're nice,” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck and joined him at the side of the box, looking down at all twelve ornaments, “it might've been nice to, ah, leave a note with them.”

“Now that can't be right...” and the angel was off, back to his cluttered office desk (not to be confused with his book restoration desk which was pristine and clutter free). He pulled out a receipt and produced his tiny spectacles from out of nowhere, “says right here that there was to be a note with every package. I gave them twelve notes with the twelve different lyrics.”

“Lyrics?”

“Yes, Crowley. From the song.”

“But it wasn't a song...” Crowley could feel his voice dipping into a whine due to his strained misunderstanding of this entire escapade, “it was ornaments.”

“The Twelve Days of Christmas. Surely, you've heard it.”

“Maybe? I tend to kind of sleep through Christmas, if I can manage it.”

“Then you don't...” Aziraphale dropped the receipt back on his desk, “you can't have...” He sat down at his desk with a thump, “oh dear.”

“I do like them, Angel, of course I do. They're from you, right? Little strange sending them to me and then having me bring them to put them on your tree, but you know I'm down for whatever you want to do,” He had been moving while he spoke, picking his way around the boxes over to where Aziraphale sat, staring off into space, “Alright, Angel?”

“But they had meaning, my dear. And that's been totally lost. Here I thought... I thought I was saying it and I wasn't.”

“You could tell me now.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him, but it was with an edge.

“You can, I want to know what they mean. It's been driving me around the bend for twelve days!” he pulled an ottoman up across from Aziraphale's chair and sat, waiting.

“I just- it was easier to let gestures speak to me.”

“You don't need to be nervous, it's only me.”

“There's nothing 'only' about you, Crowley.”

Crowley cocked his head to the side, deciding not to respond to that, and kept waiting.

“Have you heard 'The Twelve Days of Christmas?'”

“Er, probably, but I... oh,” Crowley paused and let that sink in, “so there was one ornament for each day. I get that.”

“Yes, but the song. Well, it's supposed to start on Christmas day, really. But, for my purposes it worked better to count down to Christmas eve.”

“Your purposes.”

“The song is about a lover sending gifts.” Aziraphale said it quickly and to his hands, rather than Crowley's face.

Crowley continued to stare at him as the Angel started to sing, low and soft:  
“On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me  
A partridge in a pear tree.

On the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me  
Two turtle doves,  
And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the third day of Christmas my true love sent to me  
Three French hens,  
Two turtle doves,  
And a partridge in a pear tree.”

Firstly, Crowley shivered as Aziraphale's voice drifted over him. How had he never heard him sing before? Even such simple verses sounded, well, heavenly. Secondly, true what now?

“True what now?”

“True,” Aziraphale coughed, “Well, true love.”

“For me?”

“If you'd like,” Aziraphale was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “I had one more ornament for when we were done decorating the tree.”

“Can I see it now?” Crowley felt his heart should be racing, anxiety cluttering his brain, but he felt a sudden wave of calm. Aziraphale thought of him as a true love? All these years... All these centuries. It hadn't just been him alone with his feelings? “Or would you rather we decorated first? That was the plan.”

“I can show you now,” he got up and went over to his register, producing a small white box with a red ribbon. He sat down across from Crowley again and handed it to him.

Crowley gently pulled the ribbon off and opened the box. Inside was a porcelain ball, light blue and crackled in gold. When he lifted it, he saw the image on the front: a black and red serpent tucked under the wing of a dove. He stared at it for, well, he wasn't sure how long. Finally Aziraphale cleared his voice across from him.

“Do you like it?”

“It's beautiful.”

“I had it commissioned. Hand crafted and painted.”

“For me.”

“For you.”

“Your true love.”

“Yes.”

“You did all of this,” Crowley gestured to the boxes strewn about and the trees and the ornament he now sat at his feet, “to tell me you loved me?”

“Well, it all seems a bit daft now.”

“Maybe a little.”

Aziraphale looked wounded.

“But I love my daft Angel,” Crowley reached over and took one of his hands, squeezing it until he looked up, “Maybe next time you can be a tiny bit more direct. I can't guarantee I would've understood it, either way. We're a right pair of ineffable idiots.”

“Do you want some rum and cider? I want some rum and cider.”

“Heavy on the rum, light on the cider.”

“Deal,” Aziraphale bustled off upstairs to his kitchen, leaving Crowley to sit and stare at the tree. He wound his way back to it, carrying the new ornament, cradling it to his chest. A commemorative piece of art of their first meeting. When Aziraphale had protected him from the storm.

“You can put it on first, if you like. Give it prime of place.” Aziraphale had appeared, quietly at his left elbow.

“Yeah, right in the middle?”

“I like that.”

Crowley hung it and then took his mug from Aziraphale, taking a deep sip. Aziraphale edged closer to him.

“May I?” he gestured with his arm.

“'course, Angel.” He felt Aziraphale's arm wrap around his middle and they stared at the tree for a while. He didn't know if it was the proximity or the alcohol, but he was feeling warm and syrupy, kinda like his bones were melting, in a pleasant way.

They spent the next few hours decking out the tree and downing mug after mug of what was slanted increasingly away from cider and toward rum. By the time the last bit of garland went on, they were covered in tinsel and laughing over nothing. Slumping onto the sofa next to the tree, Crowley curled into Aziraphale's side.

“Going to dream of sugar plums?”

“Nah.”

“What do you want Santa to bring you in the morning?”

“Santa only comes for good boys. M'not a good boy.”

“Hmm, maybe not.”

“I've got what I want right here, don't need Santa for anything,” he drifted off, already dreaming about being curled up safe and dry under white feathers.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr: [sushiandstarlight](https://sushiandstarlight.tumblr.com/)


End file.
